Young Love
by Monny287
Summary: A branch to Hidden in the Past. Ryan, the youngest Potter boy, is fed up with girls. Why? Find out!


Disclaimer: I own nothing. J.K. Rowling owns all.

A/N: The long awaited branch of Hidden in the Past. Not exactly a sequel, but a hopefully funny little snippet. Enjoy!

"Harry, did our son get married and not tell us?" Hermione asked one morning, staring out the window with a mug of tea in her hands. She sat on the window seat and looked, amusedly out at her son, who was in the front yard.

"Ryan? I don't think so. But I haven't talked to him since yesterday," Harry flipped through the newspaper distractedly. "Why do you ask?"

"Because he happens to be sitting on the porch swing with a girl. And they seem to be getting quite cozy," she said.

"He's gotten cozy with other girls before," Harry said.

"Not like this,"

"What's he doing, then?"  
"Take a look," Hermione moved over so that her husband could see the proceedings of the front yard. Sure enough, there was Ryan, his unruly dark brown hair sticking out every which way, sitting with a blonde-haired girl on the front porch swing. Harry shrugged and watched for a moment more, only to see his son pull a rose from behind his back and give it to the girl.

"Well, well, well," Harry mused, with a small smile on his face. "Way to go, Ry!" Hermione smacked his arm.

"Don't encourage him. You've been doing since the day he was born and I think it's finally corrupted him. Shame on you,"

"He can't even hear us,"

"You never know!"

"Wait! Look!" Harry pointed to the driveway where another girl stood, her arms crossed and looking upset and confused.

"Woah, two girls," he said. "Well, he's more of a lady's man than I thought. Certainly much more of one than his brother."

"Hey! Eli has had his run of girlfriends,"

"Yeah, but never two at the same time,"

"Shouldn't you be happy about that?"

"Well…yes. But, love, I'm a guy,"

"And that just explains everything, doesn't it?'

"Yes, yes it does,"

"I hope Ryan doesn't follow in _your_ footsteps,"

"So do I. I was mostly dateless in Hogwarts,"

"Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise?" Hermione had turned her head to look outside. Ryan was now in a real conundrum; the two girls had started to fight over him. Each had grabbed a section of his t-shirt and started to pull. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but it didn't sound good as the two girls shouted at each other. Ryan looked confused and close to tears.

"Harry, quick! Before they hurt him!"

"Hey, he got himself into this mess, and he'll get himself out,"

"But he's so young! And he's never been in this position before!"

"Do you think I want to get in the middle of that? Two scornful girls. No thank you,"

"You have a point,"

"Besides, it's very amusing,"

"You're a horrible man,"

"But you love me anyways," he said, placing a kiss on her cheek.

"Every once in awhile," she smiled. The two girls had stalked away now, leaving a very confused and dazed Ryan standing on the front lawn, a rip in his shirt.

"And that was a new shirt, too," Hermione sighed. "That boy goes through more shirts than I can count in a week."

"Well, he's a boy,"

"And that explains everything?"

"Precisely," Harry smirked, getting up to open to door for his son, who had recovered from his daze and was making his way towards the front door.

"Ready for pancakes, Ryno?" he asked, ushering the boy inside.

Ryan came into the house and dropped down in one of the kitchen table chairs. He propped his head up on his hands, looking miserable.

"I don't think I like this whole marriage business," he said. "Can't I just like a girl and not have to marry her?"

"Sure, bud, but most expect it," Harry said, placing a plate of pancakes in front of the boy. Ryan looked at it and pushed it away from him. Hermione raised her eyebrows. Obviously this had affected him greatly. Ryan never turned away food, especially his father's pancakes.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, sitting down next to him and ruffling his brown hair.

"I don't know what to do, Mum," he said, his voice muffled slightly by his hand. "I like Annie, but then Kasey told the entire school I was her boyfriend, and I don't even like her that way."

"Well, I think you should tell Kasey you don't like her that way," Hermione said. "That would be the logical thing to do."

"I already did!" Ryan protested. "She won't listen."

"Well then, keep telling her, and when anyone at school asks you if you love her, tell them no,"

"And now Annie won't talk to me because she thinks that I like Kasey," Ryan said, sounding miserable.

"It'll be okay," Hermione said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. "You'll see."

"But I really like Annie. And now she doesn't like me," Ryan picked up his spoon and looked at his distorted reflection in it. "That's it! I'm never speaking to any girl ever again! I'm done with girls." He smiled a half smile to his reflection, and then, seemingly satisfied with his resolve, pulled his pancakes toward him and began to eat.

"Well, you're only six, son, give it time," Harry said, sitting down across from his son and ruffling his hair. "There will be a time in your life where girls will be the only things you'll think about."

"Like Eli?"

"Well, not quite like Eli," Hermione laughed. Her oldest son, now at the age of thirteen, was girl-crazy, mostly from the influence of his friends. He'd had more girlfriends by this time than Hermione could count, or even Eli could. She hoped that eventually he'd settle down. She hoped even more that he'd settle down with Emma, his best friend, who, lately she'd been noticing, had developed feelings for her dark-haired son. But he, being a boy, was slightly dense. She vowed that if they didn't get together by the age of sixteen, she was going to have to intervene.

"I don't know. I still don't think I'll be having any girlfriends any time soon," Ryan grimaced at his bite of pancake and swung his feet under the table.

"Oh, and Ryan?" Hermione said.

"Yeah, Mum?"

"Next time you want to give a girl a flower, don't take one from my flower garden, okay?"

"Okay, Mum,"


End file.
